For the majority of women and girls just trying to live our lives, it comes down to this: when we are raped, it’s usually by men or boys we know who are so confident in their ability to overpower us, they don’t even think they need a weapon. As insulting and depressing as that sounds, it’s not the worst news. This is an enemy we can beat.
The metronome of its ashen handle/ counted time against my thigh as I walked,/ but at some point it stopped, and I did not.
What you said/ sent the cockroach/ under the refrigerator.
I figured I could make a king cake. I figured I should make a king cake. Being from Mobile, Ala., the home of the first Mardi Gras celebration in America (not New Orleans, Mobilians are sensitive about that), I thought it’d only be right that I tried once, at least. Maybe it’d be on par with a local Louisiana bakery? The bar was high according to my father. But at the very least it’d be homemade by me and there are points for that, and I could always blame a screw-up on the recipe. I’d bring it in to work, because what did I need with a bunch of king cake at home. I’d be an authority on king cakes.
Certainly to be an adult is to be many, many things we think of as childlike: vulnerable, mistaken, confused, petulant, afraid, irrational, and despairing. We never stop making missteps, learning, and growing up. But that doesn’t mean we don’t sometimes have our shit mostly together. Just like many children do.